For Now
by SilentG
Summary: Post-Loyalty Angsty WAFF. He said he'd come back. Her memories of their last meeting would have to be enough for now. Chapter 2: Alex makes a decision, and Bobby finds out that working for the FBI isn't anything like he imagined.
1. GOODBYE

**Author:** SilentG  
**Title:** For Now  
**Fandom:** LO:CI  
**Pairing:** B/A  
**Rating:** T for now, M later probably  
**Spoilers:** Definitely, see individual chapter A/Ns.  
**Archive:** Anywhere – no need to ask – just attribute, and let me know if possible  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Summary:** Post-Loyalty WAFF. He said he'd come back. Her memories of their last meeting would have to be enough for now.

**A/N 1:** Chapter spoilers for: Loyalty, Season 9.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER ONE: GOODBYE**

Bobby was really going to do it – he was going undercover with the FBI. Alex still had no idea what she was going to do work-wise; in the four days since she'd quit and he'd been fired, she'd had no room for any thoughts but those of worry for Bobby and regret at how things had ended for them.

And that was what was in the background for her… that things had ended for them.

Before she could make the offer herself, he'd asked to take her out for a goodbye dinner tonight – the night before he was to leave. She both craved and dreaded it, but she was determined to corner him into a conversation (one they'd never come close to having but she suspected he'd do his best to sidestep) about their future. The fact that she wanted one, with him, whatever it might look like. She was _happy_ for him moving on in his professional life – she'd often wondered why he'd stayed with Major Case after his mom died – but while she thought she could get over not working with him every day, she didn't think she could bear not seeing him… well, most days, anyway.

She'd come up with a few ideas – some scary, some crazy, some downright unlikely – to enable them to be in each other's lives. She intended to pin him down to at least one of them even if he was reluctant. She needed him, and by god she was going to figure out a way to keep him, even if he didn't need her any more.

O.O.O.O.O

This was it. The last time he would see Alex for… well, months, probably. Bobby tried to swallow the body memory of nausea and icy fear that he had come to associate with separation from the most important person in his life.

Not to say that he wasn't excited about his new assignment. He was thrilled actually. Not even too terrified that he wouldn't be able to do it without Eames. She didn't know it, but her steadying influence over the years had taken him great lengths beyond the twitchy savant with an allergy to communicating (and empathising) with his co-workers. He felt he was ready to strike out on his own – he _had to_, actually. He had to prove to both of them that he could be successful without her; that he clung to her by _choice_, not because he couldn't function otherwise. Then maybe it would be easier for her to choose _him_.

They seldom had 'relationship' conversations, even though they both admitted their partnership had been the longest and most intimate relationship of their lives; the gift they'd given each other repeatedly over the years was the ability to say all that needed to be said with their eyes, and the willingness (usually) to hear it. But tonight Bobby had something to say to Alex, and he'd be darned if she wouldn't sit and hear it, no matter how uncomfortable it made her.

O.O.O.O.O

Dinner had been nice. The place Bobby took her was quite tony, but still relaxed; she appreciated him choosing someplace where she'd feel comfortable. The man that sat opposite her in his well-cut blue suit was many things to her: handsome, brilliant, fragile, bold, beloved, and increasingly (towards her), affectionate, protective and thoughtful. She fought her inclination to deflect his overtures out of self-consciousness or over-developed independence… she had no need for those things any more.

The care she'd taken dressing paid off the instant she opened her door to him earlier, when his eyes gravitated irresistibly towards her breasts, and rested there for a grin-inducingly inappropriate length of time. Luckily he didn't see her grin, because… well… his gaze was occupied elsewhere.

If anyone asked (not that they did, or would), she'd say that it wasn't the dress – an empire-waisted black velvet knee-length with a low neckline and long butterfly sleeves – that made her bust striking, but rather the bra. She made a point at work of wearing bras that minimised her breasts, both for comfort and modesty; it always gave her a bit of a thrill when someone who knew her from work got an eyeful of what her rack really looked like.

And Bobby had definitely gotten an eyeful! No matter. It gave her plenty of time to feast her eyes on him.

He looked very spiffy in his suit, freshly shaved and with neatly trimmed hair. She glanced briefly at his polished shoes, and blushed.

She was a little bit surprised when, after grinning sheepishly and shifting from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck, he grasped her shoulders gently but firmly and kissed her cheek – the same cheek he'd kissed after, well, their last day at Major Case. "Hi," he murmured in her ear. His voice, soft and a bit husky, went straight to her cunt with a kick that made her inhale in surprise. He quickly released her, and she swayed a bit on her boot-clad feet.

"Hi yourself," she replied, feeling unaccountably shy and off-balance. Bobby lifted her coat off the hook at the door, and gently bundled her into it. Was he touching her more than usual? She wasn't expecting this.

She tilted even further off her axis when, after opening the passenger door and handing her into his classic Mustang, (_I'm not driving? ~ Nope._) he reached behind her, and, like magic, produced a single perfect red rose. Not quite a briar rose, but definitely not one of the franken-flowers sold at Valentine's, it was velvety and lush and perfectly formed. Did he remember what that rose meant? _Love and fidelity? _A searching glance at his face and his eyes seemed to answer her – _Yes, I do._ – She was afraid to believe it.

O.O.O.O.O

Dinner had been more than nice. Too bad he was too nervous to enjoy it. Oh, that wasn't completely accurate… he couldn't not enjoy being with Eames. Even times when she'd been furious at him, spitting shrapnel with her eyes and flaying him with her voice, he'd still jumped out of bed in the mornings to rush to her.

There was nothing sharp coming out of those velvety orbs tonight. In fact, her gaze was so soft and warm that he felt himself squirming with pleasure in his seat opposite her. Her voice poured over him sweet and smoky, teasing him as if by unseen hands.

The whole night she'd acted the way he felt – joyful, but on edge and with a hint of sadness. A couple of times he'd actually seen her tear up.

Through dinner they'd chatted about innocuous things – her family, his family, her plans for the future. He'd feasted on her, so tiny and beautiful and _sexy_, with no distractions, no interruptions, nobody to enter the bubble of their little world. And he'd caught her looking at him… Was it feminine appreciation he saw? Longing? _Love_? He was afraid to believe it. But he hoped.

As the evening wore on he got more anxious. There were things he needed to say to her, and he couldn't put it off forever. Fate took it out of his hands when the waitress, dropping by to get their dessert orders before clocking out, rested her hands on both their shoulders and said, "I hope you had a good time tonight! Come back soon."

He turned to Alex to find her looking crestfallen at him. "Bobby," was all she managed to say before covering her face with her hands. In an instant, he was on his knees next to her chair. "I'm not crying," she exclaimed defiantly as she let her head drop onto his shoulder while he took her waist carefully in his big hands. Yet she allowed him to hold and comfort her, playing her small strong hands over his shoulders and into his hair, leaning on him. This was heaven to him. Every minute for the past four days he'd been yearning to feel again her hot little body in the circle of his arms.

O.O.O.O.O

The first time she'd held him had gone by in a blur of grief and remorse – she could just barely separate out her recollections of his arms around her, his lips on her cheek. Now she's almost in sensory overload, all the different textures of him. His soft hair, hot, damp, smooth skin, the feeling of his warm shoulders (those, at least, she'd had a chance to touch once, to acclimate to). His hands, resting chastely on her waist, seemed to be moving, plundering, and his mouth, quiet and still against her throat, seemed poised to draw her into him.

"I don't want you to go." All her artful schemes were out the window, and she was left only with the unvarnished truth.

"I don't want to leave you, Alex." His voice hummed in her neck and hair. "I've never wanted to be apart from you, even for a day."

"Me neither." She didn't ask him not to go; she understood.

For a few minutes they just leaned against each other, soaking up the sensations where their bodies met, the sensations of really being _together_.

Bobby was the first to break the silence. "This is heaven," he whispered.

Alex laughed. "You're a simple man, Bobby Goren."

"Yup," he replied.

"Bobby, when you get back…"

He withdrew from her, a severe look on his face. "I don't – I don't want to talk about it."

Reacting to her exclamation of disappointment, he tilted his head and leaned in close. "Alex… I don't want to jinx it, get my hopes up or dashed. I just want – to focus on this last job, and then…"

"Then?" She asked sceptically. Alex was starting to feel more irritated than comforted. Was he still wriggling, after all these years?

He bent his head and fished something out of his pocket. He took her hand and squeezed. it. "Alex… I _promise_ I'm coming back – I'm not doing this because I think I won't – but I want to give you something." He put a little velvet box into her hand, and she opened it. Inside was his mother's ring. Her heart and mind swam with a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts and emotions. _What was he doing?_

"I've never…" He shook his head in irritation. "When I try…" His huff of frustration caressed her bare _décolletage_. "Alex," he finally said, "I can't – seem to say – what I need to _say_!" She reached for him and soothed him with her lips and voice at his ear, before he could take frustration out on himself. Finally, his breathing slowed, and he took in both his hands the hand that held the box. He closed his eyes. "This ring, in this ring, is a symbol of everything good and happy about my family. I want to give it to you, the source, of everything good and happy about my life. I'm not – I don't want to…"

Alex put her fingers to his lips; she was stunned, and Bobby was again becoming overwrought. "I know, Bobby. We'll talk about it when you get back."

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** I'm just in a fluffy, angsty frame of mind. Major fluff with some smex in Chapter 2. Anyone who reviews with a picture of themselves in a diabetic coma will get a free insulin injection.

_**Even if you're conscious, please review!**_

WORDS: 2027 UPLOADED Tuesday, July 27, 2010


	2. MORALITY POLICE AND BASIC TRAINING

**A/N 1:** Aah crap. I planned for this fic to be one of my patented two chapter smex-fests with angst rim, but so many people thought (or hoped) that this fic would be a multi-chapter saga. Sooo, for the first (and perhaps last) time, I'm actually changing my game plan based on what my readers want. I have no idea if it will be successful, or even readable, but here's to trying!

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER TWO: MORALITY POLICE AND BASIC TRAINING**

Alex tightened her coat against the wind as she walked to her car, feeling giddy.

_Well, at least one thing will make me look like a student,_ she thought as she regarded the beater she'd driven out to NYU.

Surprisingly, her decision to return to school had been a far more difficult adjustment for her than anyone among her family and friends.

Since leaving Major Case, she'd been approached by five municipal police forces, three state police forces, the NYPD police academy, Deakins, and several other agencies. Facing her family to tell them that she was going to finish the MA she'd started more than two decades ago was a terrifying ordeal for her… she was relieved and even a bit irked by their enthusiasm.

Turns out, she hadn't done such a great job at hiding her secret disappointment in herself for her long-ago abandonment of her Master's thesis. It was her one great failure (in her mind), and it had taken years, and several stilted conversations with Bobby (mostly on stakeouts) to realise that she wasn't a failure, merely a statistic.

'So many people don't finish their Master's, Eames,' he'd said quietly while they waited in the van for the silver thief to strike. 'It's so much harder than undergrad, and after four years of hard work to finish their degree, lots of students just get burnt out.' She'd sulked until she fell asleep, her head pillowed in her arms. When she'd returned to consciousness borne on the cleansing mist of high-octane coffee, all had been forgiven.

'What makes them hard,' he mumbled jerkily as they waited for the baby kidnappers to make the drop, 'Is, is the thesis.' She huffed in response. She didn't need to ask him what he was talking about. 'You choose it, it's – your creation. You can't write someone else's, um, story.' She'd stared out the window until they spotted the perp.

Alex thought a lot about what he'd said to her that day. She thought about it back when they'd been working together, and she thought seriously about it when she'd hesitantly begun surfing the NYU website. She'd still been thinking about it when she filled out her application, and she'd been thinking about it today. Bobby had been right, of course. When she'd chosen her Master's thesis all those years ago, she'd tried to carry her blue collar, blue tribe family on her back, and had ended up with a thesis so dry, earnest and by-the-book that it could have walked a beat by itself.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"So when do you start?" Alex was sitting in front of her tiny apartment fireplace, sipping coffee with a nice dollop of whiskey. On the other end of the phone, her whole extended family was on speaker.

Alex shrugged. "I've already started. All my criminology coursework is done – I just have to pick up some classes in gender studies, and then…" With no-one there to see her, she hung her head in anticipated exhaustion, "Get busy writing."

Someone on the other end snorted at the mention of _gender studies_, but she chose to ignore it. "I thought your old thesis was better," her brother mumbled.

Alex sighed. "I know," she said wearily. "But it was…" _Boring. Soul-less. Not me… _"A bit pedestrian, even then. Now, it's hopelessly out of date; even if I'd wanted to continue, I'd have had to practically re-do it, so much of my source material is stale, or even discredited."

"Besides," her sister-in-law said, "There are so many MAs out there, that it's hard to even find a thesis. Inter-disciplinary graduate studies are not only more relevant nowadays, they're way easier to find a good topic."

Alex was grateful for the good word from the only member of their family to earn a graduate degree, but she chuckled at how her comment shut down the conversation. A minute or so later, just as she was thinking of saying goodnight, her brother piped up. "Whadaya think Goren would think of you going back to school?"

Alex wondered that herself. They'd kept in touch at first, while he was at Quantico being trained. But then he'd gone 'radio silent', and while she continued to email him, she hadn't had a reply in almost six weeks. She thought of him often, though, when…

Actually, she thought about him _all the time_.

She sighed again. "I don't know whether he'd be more happy or envious," she replied. "I'll tell you one thing, I wish…" She caught herself a second too late. Her family wasn't a welcome or understanding audience for her wishes regarding her former partner. She stammered, "I wish, that, I had half his stamina for heavy reading." She laughed to cover her own disingenuous words. Her dad grunted, but thankfully remained silent. "I know for sure he'd envy me getting the Reynolds Fellowship, at least."

Alex chatted about innocuous things for a while more, then said goodnight. She sat, curled up on the sofa, staring at her laptop. Two files were open – an email, whose first line was, "Dear Bobby," and a word processing file, entitled: _Morality Police: Gender roles, their influence on the formulation and enforcement of vice statutes, and the resulting top-down pressure to shape the culture and direction of criminal justice._

**O.O.O.O.O**

Bobby was sitting in the caf at Quantico, staring at his uneaten lunch, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

The past four months had been so hard… harder than he'd ever imagined (and he'd thought often and – in his opinion, realistically – about what FBI training would be like), but the six weeks since he'd learned the true nature of what Agent Stahl and her team expected of him had been particularly bad.

The only bright spots had been Alex's emails. There was one waiting for him on his computer right now. He felt bad not replying to her, but he just didn't know what to say. It didn't matter though… just hearing from her lifted his spirits so much. He never read her emails right away; he saved them for the evenings, when he would settle himself in bed, clean and full and cosy after a meal and a shower, empty his mind of the stress of the day, re-read everything she'd sent, then finally open and savour what she'd written that day. Then after, he'd… well, he'd do something he'd never dreamt of doing when they were partners, even in the privacy of his own mind and body and bed.

Bobby was surprised, delighted and deeply jealous about Alex going back to school. The Reynolds Fellowship was amazing, and he laughed out loud at her choice of topics for her thesis. He only hoped that he'd be back in time to help her with her research – if she would let him. He suspected he'd back sooner than later, or not at all.

Actually, he tried not to think too much about what was to come after his assignment. He'd realised to his dismay soon after arriving that not only was training much more difficult and exhausting than he'd anticipated, but also that he and Alex had left things much too up in the air for his sanity. What had made him deflect her when she tried to talk to him about the future? He'd held her hand in his… He could _see_ her emotions right there on her face… He could have…

Could have, but didn't. And he was too cowardly to try to discuss it with her over the phone or via email. Their conversations had been warm, but short and superficial. Her emails, since he'd stopped responding, had been chatty and understanding. Classic Eames. _God, he missed her_.

**o.o.o.o.o**

He'd spent no time at all with Stahl and the other agents on the Puntland case up until very recently. He hadn't expected to – learning how to be an FBI agent was a more than full-time job, especially for a fifty year old man who hadn't had to prove himself in close to 20 years. Since earning his accreditation, he'd had several meetings with Stahl, but he'd been spending most of his time doing research and doing crash courses in languages: Somali, Af-Maay, Arabic and Swahili.

He'd known that – as both the low man on the totem pole and the well-known 'whack job' – he'd have to be extra careful and extra co-operative in order to make a go of this, but he'd still been very dismayed to learn his superiors' expectations of his role in the Puntland operation. Stahl had been waxing enthusiastic about his future with the FBI, but he privately felt uncertain about whether there was a place for him here, even if others thought there was.

The demoralizing thought of returning to Eames a failure was what kept him going. He knew she didn't care whether or not he flourished at the FBI, but he didn't think he could face her if he scrubbed out. But it was _so hard_ – not only the work, but the feeling of being no more than a useful tool. He hadn't felt that way in… well, about ten years, actually. Looking back at the time before Eames (BBE – before beloved Eames, he thought), and remembering how tolerable it had been to be used and misunderstood, made him sad. With her, he'd begun to live his life in colour, not just black and white and shades of grey. Retreating to a world of monochrome was really soul-sucking, he found. He didn't like the person he was finding it easier and easier to be.

**o.o.o.o.o**

At the gentle touch, Bobby looked back over his shoulder with some trepidation. He was already notorious here at Quantico – for his relationship to Gage, his many widely-circulated episodes of personal drama and melt-downs from MCS, his well-documented genius and quirkiness, and his ignominious dismissal. For those reasons, most people gave him a wide berth, even the people who'd taken him up on his offer and invited him here. The touch he felt was familiar in both senses – the intimacy of one who knew him, and recognised by him on some deep level. His mouth opened in shock at the petite, smiling face that greeted him.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** Dum Dum Duuuummm… Who the heck IS IT?

The Reynolds Fellowship in Social Entrepreneurship really exists, BTW. It's an inter-disciplinary Graduate program for students who display strength, interest and experience in multiple fields. Aaand… while I'd imagined I'd be apologizing to the folks who wanted a saga, now I find myself apologizing to the people who said (after I'd already started writing my saga) that they were looking forward to the smex. Let me just say this: 1. Goren won't be home for a while. 2. Neither of them will be smexing anyone else. 3. I might be able to figure out a way to fit smex in before they meet again.

One, Two, Better Review!

WORDS: 1944 UPLOADED Monday, August 2, 2010


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